


Of Waistcoats and Pocket Squares

by bordello_blues



Category: Suits (TV), White Collar
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bordello_blues/pseuds/bordello_blues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the pocket square that does it, or the waistcoat; Neal can’t rightly say which.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Waistcoats and Pocket Squares

**Author's Note:**

  * For [resurrection_en_menthe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrection_en_menthe/gifts).



> I'm obsessing over Neal/Harvey right now. This is my first time writing smut in a million years. o.O Many thanks go to my friend Christina for beta'ing and generally dealing with my frustrated texting. I realized that I should point out that this is set in an AU that Christina and I have where Arthur and Eames (from Inception) adopt Neal.

It’s the pocket square that does it, or the waistcoat; Neal can’t rightly say which. It could very well be the peaked lapels, Harvey doesn’t ask questions anymore; at least not when he gets to come home to Neal pushing his back against the wall the second he walks into the bedroom and fingers feverishly pulling his belt from its loops. Neal has two days worth of stubble and it burns across Harvey’s cheek as he presses their mouths together. Fire races through veins, anybody else and he would be worried for his suit; but Neal is always careful, almost reverent in the way he pulls the buttons out of their holes – quick, too, and nimble – nothing else should be expected.

“Neal—“ Harvey starts, Neal presses a finger to his lips and drops to his knees.

“Let me.”

With a dull thud, his head drops back against the wall and he tangles his fingers into Neal’s hair, still damp from a shower. He gulps past the knot in his throat and meets a fiery blue gaze.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

“You looked so good this morning,” Neal says, pausing to run his tongue across the strip of bared skin between the waist of Harvey’s pants and the hem of his shirt, “I’ve been thinking of nothing else all day.”

All the stops are pulled out, cards on the table; Harvey drops his hand to a warm shoulder, squeezes unwittingly and sucks in a sharp breath as, with a jaunty smirk, Neal grasps the zip in his teeth and pulls.

“I do like the sight of you on your knees,” Harvey’s voice is just a notch too high, his knees weakening as in one smooth move his pants and briefs alike are pulled just low enough. There’s a hand splayed across his hip, thumb running the crease between thigh and groin; he bites his lip in surprise and lets his eyes drift shut as the other finds its way to his balls.

“Hey,” Neal whispers between the wet kisses he mouths across the length of Harvey’s dick, “Hey, look at me. I want you to watch me.”

Harvey does, he meets Neal’s gaze with half-lidded eyes; maintains it even as he’s taken unerringly to the root. The heat is well nigh unbearable and his fingers tangle further in Neal’s hair; it must hurt, because there’s the barest hint of teeth in warning – it only makes him harder. He watches his dick disappearing in Neal’s mouth, releases a low, guttural moan that is received with an amused chuckle. The vibrations cause Harvey’s toes to curl in his shoes; he feels trapped in his own skin beneath the calculating and brilliantly blue look sent his way. There’s a coiling heat in his belly, an edge flying towards him sped on by tongue and throat, hands that seem to be flying everywhere at once – tweaking a nipple, cupping his balls, squeezing his ass. Running on autopilot his hips thrust forward, only to be pressed back firmly against the wall.

“Oh no,” Neal murmurs, pulling away in spite of the petulant whine it elicits and the fingers clutching desperately at his hair, “I’m not having any of that, darling.”

“God, don’t say that, you sound like your dad.”

It startles a curt laugh out of Neal as he nips at the inside of Harvey’s thigh, there will probably be a mark there come morning, and in their separate offices, worlds away, they’ll spend the entire day trying not to think about those two perfect half circles etched in Harvey’s skin.

“Lets not talk about my parents when I’m sucking your dick, right?”

“I don’t see very much sucking going on,” Harvey manages to get out just as Neal sneaks a finger back and applies an insistent pressure against his perineum.

“That’s enough out of you,” he responds, disentangling Harvey’s fingers from his hair and letting them drop to his shoulder instead. “Keep your hands where they are, okay?”

Harvey, mouth suddenly dry, can only nod in acknowledgement. The grin on Neal’s face is shark-toothed and dazzling; he likes these occasional power plays, he likes having Harvey pliant in the palm of his hand, likes taking him apart almost as much as he likes putting him back together. For his part, Harvey doesn’t mind playing along. Particularly when Neal’s tongue is swirling around the head of his dick, and a hand keeps a torturously erratic rhythm between his balls and perineum. There are little half moons dug into Neal’s shoulders, interspersed with light scratches where Harvey’s been dragging his nails back and forth in aborted paths. His breathing is ragged, heartbeat pounding in his ears, he groans heavily as Neal’s mouth moves back and forth with deliberate slowness. Firmly he nudges Harvey’s legs further apart, settles himself more completely in the space between them; it pushes Harvey’s cock to the very back of his throat. Neal watches with smug self-satisfaction as Harvey’s eyes flutter closed, the knock of his head against the wall sounds almost painful.

“Shit, Neal,” is all that manages to escape past Harvey’s lips, fingers starting to skate up the side of Neal’s neck before remembering themselves and returning to their spot on his shoulder, “Don’t you dare stop.”

An eyebrow arches incredulously in Harvey’s general direction, but he’s too engaged in the moment to pay it any mind. Neal’s nose is digging into his pelvis at the end of each measured slide; when he looks down that blue, blue gaze is on fire – drilling into him with a deliberate calculation, analyzing carefully how much longer he can last. It’s not much longer, not when he catches the pop of a lid with the very edge of a consciousness slowly swirling out of his dick and into Neal’s mouth. Suddenly, unexpectedly, there’s a lube-slicked finger pressing against him; it snatches the last vestiges of his breath away. Up, up and in Neal pushes, applies firm pressure against Harvey’s prostate and just like that the sparks are flying.

“Jesus fuck,” Harvey manages to bite out, though it comes out garbled and unintelligible. Inelegantly his fingers tighten into a death grip on Neal’s shoulders, orgasm burns through his veins and sets off sparks like fireworks. Through it all, Neal doesn’t let up on the pressure, swallows every last drop as he holds Harvey’s hips in place. When he finally does pull away he looks tremendously pleased with himself; grabs Harvey by the lapels of the suit jacket he’s still wearing and drags him to his knees on the floor.

“What was that for?”

“Felt like it,” the response comes with a coy smile. Neal slots their mouths together, Harvey can taste himself there – a claim staked out – possessiveness flares brightly somewhere in his chest.

Pulling away from the kiss, Harvey leans their foreheads together, links his fingers at the back of Neal’s neck. “Lucky me.”

“Mm,” Neal laughs, “I never could resist a well-dressed man.”


End file.
